


what time does your heart close?

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Homosexuality, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Purple Prose, Self Indulgent Fic Adventures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was never meant to be this way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what time does your heart close?

His mouth tastes like dirt. 

There is a bruise blooming on her cheek, and his mouth taste like dirt. Blood leaks from his lips. Hell unfolds around them. 

His mouth tastes like dirt. He has never looked happier to embrace death. She hopes that in death he finds that which he was looking for.

In war, she was born. In war, she was made. In the last blazing glory of war, she will take her final stand.

...

Even before they are formally introduced, she finally realizes that she is not alone. That she has never truly been alone at all.

She watches them intently as Thor jests with his new found friends thoroughly forgetting that she is there even if his hand remains heavy and warm on her waist. The two of them are barely clothed. The brunette one, (The hair is natural, Sif can tell. It looks far prettier on her than it does on Sif’s own head.), wears a large shirt with the words “US Air Force” emblazoned on them with shorts that nearly cover her rear. The other, the red haired one, is just the opposite. She wears little than a thin piece of fabric across her chest and pants that seem to engulf her small frame. They fight easily, without true malice in their hearts. Speaking idly, switching tongues occasionally, they throw lazy punches that are not meant to harm. 

A voice that sounds oddly like Frigga chastises her for her foolishness. She has yet to even speak to them yet her heart sores with an unspoken sisterhood, a sisterhood that will be built on steel and proven in battle. 

When Thor finally does introduce the three of them, there is little sweeter than the sound of the redhead, Natasha, asking her if she would like to take a round in the ring.

...

Her new pants, jeans, made from a thick fabric called “denim”, chafe her thighs. The shirt she bought earlier in the week is loose and light pink. The color complements her. Her hair is braided elaborately in a style that Pepper, (what a strange name for any living thing, let alone a woman), assures her is the newest style. Her shoes create blisters that burn constantly.

Everything itches. It itches, constricts, and inhibits. This is a costume. She will never truly be comfortable in these clothes, not the way Thor is. It is a constant reminder that this is not her home.

Coffee is the strangest thing she’s ever tasted. Thor offers a small sip from his small porcelain cup which is filled to the brim with the stuff. Her distaste wrinkles her nose before she can catch it. Thor smiles brightly at her, all dazzling teeth and pink cheeks. He kisses her nose and calls her “cute.” 

It’s something she has long to see for quite a time. She has for so long wished to see him truly happy, to listen to his silly terms of endearment. She wishes to see him smile more.

Thor has few smiles to offer to those who remain on Asgard.

...

She asks Natasha if she knows what it’s like to feel alone.

Natasha smiles softly and kisses her lightly on the cheek.

She smells like lavender and fire. 

Sif is intoxicated.

...

“I loved him too.”

She offers him that after they (“the Avengers”) have put Loki where he always belonged, in the ground, dead as dead can be. It’s always where he belonged whether Thor wished to believe it or not. She wishes it did not hurt this much. There is too much hurt in his heart. 

He cries in her arms that night.

She cries alone that night. She finally realizes something that Jane Foster, in all her great wisdom, learned in years ago. There is no place in his heart for them. There never was. 

Once again, a voice that sounds oddly like Frigga chastises her for her foolishness. This time she’s willing to admit that the voice is right.

...

"Boys are stupid."

Natasha's warm breasts press against her back. 

Sif wholeheartedly agrees.

"They are." 

...

His mouth tastes like dirt.

There is a bruise blooming on her cheek, and his mouth taste like dirt. Blood leaks from his lips. Hell unfolds around them. 

His mouth tastes like dirt. He has never looked happier to embrace death. She hopes that in death he finds that which he was looking for.

In war, she was born. In war, she was made. In the last blazing glory of war, she will take her final stand.

**Author's Note:**

> yo, i don't even know.


End file.
